A Bridge in Troubled Waters

As days have come and gone, one thing we don’t need them to bring is more rain!

Work has continued to be sporadic for me around the mission. When I don’t go into town to the church, I’ve been able to help out with other projects and needs. I’ve been driving the kinder to school three days a week. After devotions I’ll grab the Ur Van and bring it round where the kids are waiting in their uniforms and there house parents heard them onboard. I’ll work with the boys on the weekends or when they have days off from school. I have cleared weeds, sanded furniture, moved cement and helped Ricardo with the vehicles. There is always something to do.

The work doesn’t just stop at the mission. The other day Ricardo asked if I would help “mow” at the kid’s school on a Saturday. We had no mower available to bring but we were going anyway. I was surprised to see that there was a huge group of volunteers there already. All the parents come a couple times a year to handle the grounds. I was even more surprised when the school’s gate locked behind me. The school collects so many volunteers by taking role of who shows up and fining the parents that don’t show. Then, if you don’t pay, they’ll suspend your kid. Once you’re there, they lock you in for as long as they need you. Feel free to suggest that to your local PTA. The mowing was actually sharp shovels and machetes hacking through the tall grass and weeds. Not the most efficient, but it got the job done. After a few hours they workers were gathered for announcements and arguing and then the gate was finally unlocked when everyone was sufficiently agitated and we were released. Free at last.

Between jobs, it has rained and rained a lot. The mountains around the valley are very steep and it doesn’t take long for the water to accumulate and start causing problems. The drive to the mission is constantly flooded but we can usually get vehicles through. I accompanied Jill and Janelle and little Celina to Oaxaca to get things for the house and help carry things on a Sam’s Club run. It was a successful trip and we were on our way home when Ricardo called and asked if we were going to be able to get back. Sure, sure, I’m sure we’ll have no problems. We did have problems. Shortly before Tlocelula traffic was backed up on account of bridge being party washed away. There was an option of a three or four hour drive around through other mountain roads that have the potential for the same problem, so we decided to stay in town.

We had hundreds of dollars of stuff from the store so we found a place that we could park inside and settled into an impromptu vacation. Everyone was worried about us but we were living it up on the town, though the girls were stressing because they were afraid they wouldn’t be able to leave on their long planned trip back to the states for a visit. But the Holiday Inn was more than comfortable and I had my first worm shower since I arrived in Oaxaca.

Luckily we awoke to sunny skies and the bridge had been stabilized enough to let light traffic through on one lane. We were on our way home. The traffic was backed up but it really didn’t take too long. Hopefully the rain holds off for now. If we get another squall like we’ve had the bridge might be completely wiped out.

I seem to enjoy unforeseen hiccups like these that create a little adventure. It was fun to get to know Jill and Janelle better, spend some time in town, and play with Celina who is two and will be staying with us while the girls are in Chicago, which they had no problem getting to their flight. Unfortunately, a little adventure for me was disaster for many people in the valley and the mountain villages. Towns are cut off, mudslides have knocked out homes and many fields and homes are flooded all over Oaxaca. Hopefully, the weather continues to dry out.

It’s easy to see a ripple effect of poverty when things like this happen. The country and state don’t have the money to build decent infrastructure, which is easily upset, which hampers commerce leaving less money. The people can’t have nice houses in nice places which flood or crumble, taking up more resources to build again. Some have said that it is unfair for these things to happen to poor people. It seems like they are poor because these things happen. Of course that is an overly simple explanation. It just boggles my mind that I have lived such a prosperous and privileged life that I am unaffected by things like rain. I’ve created an environment so artificial that even the most basic natural processes bare little, if any, impact on my daily life. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, but it seems significant, though I’m not quite sure how. Maybe I’ll find out one day.

Embrace the Dysfunction

So I’ve seemed to settle myself into life at the mission. I’ve got my own room, which hasn’t happened since I’ve lived at home, but the boys come in and say hi and meander about scrounging food and hassling one another. At first glance they appear to be typical teenagers and are expected to be a somewhat responsible member of the family. The dynamic of which is an interesting production around here. Given their stories, I’d have imagined bundling so many broken hearts under one roof would spell disaster, but what I’ve found is a family of sorts. Hard to see at first, it becomes easier if one applies the brilliant wisdom of my father, “Embrace the dysfunction.” To prove my father’s theory of happiness and stress-free living we’ll take another hike.

When I arrived the boys were on a break from school because of the independence holiday on the 16^th. One of the days they were off Pio, Jose and I went on a hike up the Sleeping Lady. La Muchacha Duermio is a small mountain behind the mission that looks like a lady lying on her back. We headed across the grounds till we were into a neighboring cornfield, beyond a small creak and on the way up. We scrambled up some rocks then into a little gully where we followed a stream, hopping from rock to rock. There was a path but we kept meandering from it, making things a little more difficult for ourselves than it had to be. Each time we deviated from the path I thought we would be moving on from the trajectory only to return a couple steps later. Then it dawned on me that Pio was leading. Pio is virtually blind. His eyesight is like looking through waxed paper. He plays computer games with eyes inches from the screen and reads with his nose literally in the pages. It was the blind leading the sighted, but even so we made it up to a beautiful waterfall and then eventually back safe and sound.

For my official duties I go into town with Habakuk, the new pastor to build the new church. So far we have been digging through concrete to sink new posts that will suspend the roof. The first day with sledge and crowbar in hand we cracked and smashed, swung and scraped some puny wholes that we would come back to finish the next day. I weakly suggested how much easier this would be with a jack hammer, to which Habakuk responded, “Yeah, we have one. We’ll bring it tomorrow.” His response puzzled me, as I’m sure the look on my face puzzled him. It did seem odd and that we would spend time and energy doing what was going to be completed in another manner anyway. I told this story to my sister later that afternoon to which she said, “Welcome to Mexico Nick.” No further explanation was needed. Wheedling the jackhammer was no walk in the park either, as it turned out. I’m sure our job is not to code. I didn’t bother to ask. Tasks are accomplished not with speed or procedure but simply accomplished. Our operation doesn’t possess the means, manpower, or resources to worry about such luxuries, and I think they are just that.

There is also dysfunction that can be embraced, but will not be tolerated. Not surprisingly, cleanliness, or lack there of, is one such catalysis for punishment. My sister, on more than one occasion during my short stay to this point, has foolishly complained to me, her brother who is not very clean either, of her kids messy closets and dirty rooms. Of course I’m shocked to hear that all ten teenage boys are not perfect housekeepers. After she vents to me there is a silent anticipation until the poor guilty child returns or is hunted down, conditions permitting.

Worse than general filthiness, is malicious messiness. On more than one occasion, one of the boys has booby-trapped another’s bed or shoes with dirty dishes, old food, or other readily available munitions. The culprit is easily weeded out by punishing the entire group for the offense. Nothing like a little social Darwinism to strengthen the bonds of brotherhood, but it works. The offender was given the choice of eating the festering food that was planted or relieving the victim of their chores for two weeks. The food must not have been this morning’s breakfast because the chores were more appealing.

Finally, seeing as how there are ten boys and only two sets of eyes to watch them, they are expected to be where they know they should be. Case and point? Pio. I went to the market after church with Ricardo, Pio, Fide, and Jose. The market was wonderful, beautiful sights and smells everywhere. There were interesting people and crafts, clothes, and wares. We walked to the end and then bought what we needed on our way back. At one point, Pio was missing. Apparently partial blindness is no excuse, because he got a talking to when he was found. Finally we were finishing up and Pio was gone again. Hopefully he would be at the car. He wasn’t. We left. Its about 4 kilometers back to the mission. I was assured he would be able to make his way back.

To embrace the dysfunction is to cope. Embracing the dysfunction takes care of ten boys. It feeds some sixty orphans three meals a day. It triumphs over tantrums, injuries, disputes, and bad days, but at some point this wise and sound philosophy crumbles under its own inadequacies. It is for profound and fundamentally dysfunctional homes and families that many of the kids are here. Many will carry it along with them for a lifetime, and its not that they have chosen to embrace it either. It was always there. Another adventure for me in another land with more interesting people is a struggle for these kids. Every day is a new story of another kid.

I’m sorry, I don’t really know how to turn this post around, and it’s getting pretty late. We’ll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings us.

Oh, if you’re worried about Pio, he’s fine. He walked cross-town to join up with his friends from the mission and the youth group where they were selling hamburgers to raise money for an event they are going to put on. When Ricardo and I picked them up the other boys sang songs in the van on the way home of how he would be in trouble when he got back to Andrea.

Mexico City Photos

1. Inside Mexico City Metropolitan Cathedral

2. Outside Cathedral in the Zocalo

3. Church in Tepoztlan

4. Aztec Pyramid

5. Happy Hiker

The Liturgy of Living in Tension

If you’ve kept up with the blog, then you know I’m not a city boy. The romance of wilderness is far too appealing without the rapid pace and complication of business. Yet I’m captivated by Mexico City. The wonder of her architecture bears witness to the tangled web of culture that has exploded a massive population. Built on the ruins of one of the largest indigenous settlements in the Americas, it is the center for religion, commerce, and politics in a country struggling to keep up with contemporary western powers. To walk her streets is to be enfolded into her story, but first; a hike!

On Saturday I awoke to a bustling house. The baby awake, mom and dad were gathering different things they needed for a successful outing with a three-month-old. We were all headed south of the city to the small town of Tepoztlan. It was a beautiful pueblo with a Saturday market and cobblestone streets. We walked the market and grabbed a snack. Then we moved through to the end of the town for a short hike into the surrounding mountains.

It began with a series of stone steps lined with merchants peddling food and souvenirs, as this seemed to be a popular weekend hotspot. The trail was steep and we gained altitude rapidly shaded under heavy canopy. We were all breathing heavily and taking lots of breaks. I think the trail starts at about 5500 ft. It was very muggy and the sweat ran freely. It felt like old times. James had the baby and she seemed to like the hike or was asleep. I felt honored to accompany the Kitchins on Isa’s first hike. We made it to the top where sat an Aztec pyramid. It was very impressive. A plaque said that some of the carvings dated to the 16^th Century but the structure could very well be older. We snapped pictures of the pyramid and the valley below then headed down. The baby fussed a bit but then slept most the way. Then we headed to the cantina for dinner and ordered a two-person entre that three of us could not finish. What a wonderful hike.

Sunday was church. We went to a house church in the city that the Kitchins attend. It was beautiful. We all sat in a small yard and sang songs after just hanging for a while. Then, James, the missionary whose house we were at, gave a sermon. Everything being in Spanish I struggle to follow along. I was encouraged that I understood enough to turn to the 5^th chapter of Matthew, and he spoke of all the different types of people that attended the Sermon on the Mount. Yet the message they received was a peace in which they could all participate despite their differences. And knowing the peace, they live in the tension of imperfection and redemption.

We prayed and formally finished. Then the party started. The small church was celebrating a birthday. We ate very well and some danced. It was a blessed way to be in church.

Today I struck out on my own while the Kitchins were at work. I headed for the Zocalo. It is the main town square. After successfully navigating the metro and one train change, I walked up from the subway into the square. You pop out directly in front of the Mexico City Metropolitan Cathedral. It is astounding. Taking up one whole side of the square, it’s intimidating in both size and grandeur. Its construction lingered for centuries from the small church immediately after the conquest of Tenochtitlan in the 16^th century until after 1800. Some of the stones of the conquered Aztec temples were used in the construction.

The rapid influx of Catholicism through violence to the area brings new meaning to the idea of baptism by fire. The building seems to encapsulate the reverence and majesty of its tradition. But I can’t help but liken it, in my mind, to a head stone honoring the turbulent transition of the land. I do not envy the work of the Franciscan Monks whose task it was to reconcile the European force to the message of the Gospel. Yet somehow they did. They orchestrated aqueducts from the mountains to native villages. Learned hundreds of native tongues and navigated a rugged mountain wilderness. The shear number of devout Catholics today testifies of their work.

I walked in, removing my cap, as daily mass was in progress. The sound of raised voices echo in the massive chapel. I sat in wonder at the process until the priest administered the sacrament of communion and offered the benediction. All the while other tourists meandered and gazed, snapping pictures and whispering quietly to each other. The parishioners filed out into the square, where, in a matter of days, the president would address the country for its 200^th anniversary. “Viva Mexico.” From just across the square the nation’s leader pays tribute to the revolution from another country that brought them their faith from across the sea.

I arrived at the mission last night and spent today learning names and getting shone round the grounds. My sister rapidly educated me on the boy’s different and compelling backgrounds. Suddenly the tension of empire and conquest, religion and commerce, and history’s entire dramatic epic in Mexico now had a face. Their stories are beyond intimidating. What can I do? Fortunately there are wonderful people who have already begun the work and stand by and bend and strain under the tension that pulls on these kids. Hopefully I can learn their delicate and beautiful dance.

Now Turned and Facing Southern Skies

It’s been almost one year to date from the time I lived afoot and free on the Pacific Crest Trail. Yet the memories of those days offer little satisfaction. Rather they have since stirred a need to be on the move once more. And so again I'll tempt fate for fortune to sing a new song, in a new place, with new friends, and find family in far off lands.

Trading in my boots for jet fuel, I've already more than doubled the distance of last summer's travels in the course of a couple weeks. If the trail had been an exercise in simplicity, modern international travel can be anything but. It begins, not with a single step, but with a series of web pages, ticket prices, invoices and emails only to be followed by buses, shuttles, boarder guards, airports and immigration officers. The excitement of what’s to come propels me beyond my frustrations and disdain for logistics, and somehow with broken Spanish, though by providence, I arrive via yet another shuttle in Mexico City.

James picks me up at the shuttle station. He and his wife Lauren have lived in the city almost two years, teaching and going to school as well. The three of us attended Point Loma in San Diego. James and I lived in the dorm together and also for a time after graduation. It’s wonderful to be with them. Not only that, but the two of them have become three and I've eagerly anticipated meeting their baby girl. But first thing first, the shuttle station was near the north end of the city and James and Lauren live on the southern side. A simple cross-town cruise is out of the question in a city more than twice the size of New York. Furthermore, it’s dark and raining. The streets are not well lit or clearly marked, and two years is hardly enough time to memorize a grid that size. James and I had plenty of time to catch up.

The city is incredible. It’s not as bright as other big cities but the dim glow seems to stretch endlessly. As we pass here and there James speaks of sights and history that could keep you busy indefinitely. Ruins outside the city in all directions, mountain towns, cathedrals, and castles too. Eventually we made it to the Periferico, a freeway that surrounds the city. We took the upper deck, giving new meaning to the term "highway"; because it’s a four-lane parkway directly on top another. It was getting later. The traffic wasn't too bad and we made it home safe and sound.

I'm so excited to spend time with my friends this afternoon. They are working so I took some time to sit and write, walk around the neighborhood, and grab some coffee. Certainly there will be much more to come. I can't explain the excitement of traveling again. Hopefully everyone will enjoy coming along for the ride once more. Though this trip will be immeasurably different than the last, I go in the same spirit and love that has blessed my previous comings and goings.